_Hon. Rec._ What, upon this sudden? Then might ye plain Bid me avaunt! Nay, let me see In honesty What ye can do To win Recreation; Upon that probation I grant thereto.
_Wit._ Small be my doings, But apt to all things I am, I trust.
_Hon. Rec._ Then, for a while, Ye must exile This garment cumbering.
_Wit._ Indeed, as ye say, This cumbrous array Would make Wit slumbering.
_Hon. Rec._ It is gay gear Of Science clear-- It seemeth her array.
_Wit._ Whosever it were, It lieth now there! [_Taketh off his gown._
_Here they dance, and in the meanwhile_ IDLENESS _cometh in and sitteth down, and when_ _the galliard is done_, WIT _saith as followeth,_ _and so falleth down in_ IDLENESS' _lap_.
_Hon. Rec._ Why, whither now? Have ye done, since?
_Wit._ Yea, in faith! with weary bones ye have possessed me; Among these damsels now will I rest me.
_Idleness._ Yea, and welcome, by him that God sold!
_Hon. Rec._ It is an harlot; may ye not see?
_Hon. Rec._ Her name is Idleness. Wit! what mean you?
_Idle._ Nay! what mean you to scold thus, you quean, you?
_Wit._ There, go to! Lo! now for the best game! While I take my ease, your tongues now frame!
_Hon. Rec._ Yea, Wit! by your faith, is that your fashion? Will ye leave me, Honest Recreation, For that common strumpet, Idleness, The very root of all viciousness?
_Wit._ She saith she is as honest as ye. Declare yourselves both now as ye be!
_Hon. Rec._ What would ye more for my declaration Than even my name, Honest Recreation? And what would ye more her to express Than even her name, too, Idleness-- Destruction of all that with her tarry? Wherefore come away, Wit! she will mar ye!
_Idle._ Will I mar him, drab? thou callet, thou! When thou hast marred him already now? Callest thou thyself Honest Recreation, Ordering a poor man after this fashion, To lame him thus, and make his limbs fail, Even with the swinging there of thy tail? The devil set fire on thee! for now must I, Idleness, heal him again, I spy. I must now lull him, rock him, and frame him To his lust again, where thou didst lame him. Am I the root, sayest thou, of viciousness? Nay! thou art root of all vice, doubtless! Thou art occasion, lo! of more evil Than I, poor girl--nay, more than the devil! The devil and his dam cannot devise More devilishness than by thee doth rise! Under the name of Honest Recreation, She, lo! bringeth in her abomination! Mark her dancing, her masking, and mumming-- Where more concupiscence than there coming? Her carding, her dicing, daily and nightly-- Where find ye more falsehood than there? Not lightly! With lying and swearing, by no poppets; But tearing God in a thousand gobbets. As for her singing, piping and fiddling-- What unthriftiness therein is twiddling! Search the taverns and ye shall hear, clear, Such bawdry as beasts would spue to hear. And yet, this is called Honest Recreation! And I, poor Idleness, abomination! But which is worst of us twain, now judge, Wit!